Friday

6.45 felt like quarter to nine and I missed the sight of sunrise. Breakfast was a nectarine, and porridge with brown sugar from the Welsh teabag tin on the top shelf of the cupboard, and Earl Grey with milk and honey, and orange juice. Cat communion whilst wearing my favourite old blue woollen cardigan, still pyjama'd. A hot shower and the long-lost smell of our garden on a cold, fresh English morning. My mother's ocean pie and a suprise piece of chocolate cherry cake. Old friends and liquor in my candlelit living room and the bright lights of my hometown once more.

Marcine M. brought my attention to a ukelele-playing songbird boy and to the beautiful Septembear. My heart sung with the thought of 31st August, which will bring me my last teenage year and put an end to a soaring summer, ushering in autumn and all its golden dusky glory.